Helena's sonic frequency was not high, and her beautiful pitch could not really be called piercing, but the magic contained within it was almost no different from a real banshee's scream. So even though someone as powerful as Voldemort would not die simply from hearing a banshee's cry, he still could not help feeling dizzy and disoriented. His blood and qi surged upward uncontrollably, hammering violently against his heart and lungs. Blood streamed from the two slits that were all that remained of his nostrils, while from his severed wrist, blood dripped and pattered down, spurting even faster.
Voldemort, his mind dazed by the sudden blow, did not understand the meaning of the words the other party had screamed. He closed his eyes, shook his head, raised his sleeve to wipe the blood from his nose, and leaned against the doorframe, steadying his somewhat chaotic breathing. Then he opened his scarlet eyes, shoved the door open, and strode inside, leaving the now-silent garden behind.
But the moment Voldemort stepped in, his entire body seemed to be struck by a Petrification Curse, freezing on the spot—what appeared before Tom was not a wizarding family's room, but a bare courtyard, as though what he had just pushed open had not been a house door at all, but another garden gate.
Dark clouds hung low. Beneath the gloomy sky, the courtyard was surrounded by square, grim, rigid-looking buildings, with tall railings enclosing it on every side.
Voldemort's large pale hand clenched tightly, veins standing out as he walked into one of the buildings as if possessed. He crossed the Entrance Hall paved with black-and-white tiles, followed the dim stairwell all the way to a narrow, shabby room. It was an empty little room with no decorations at all, only an old wardrobe and